Torn to Ribbons
by InferiorBeing
Summary: PostDH! HarryDraco slash! Seven years after Lord Voldemort's defeat, Unspeakable Harry Potter is given an assignment. He must retrieve Draco Malfoy, preferably alive, at any cost.
1. The Folder

**Title:** _Torn to Ribbons_  
**Author:** InferiorBeing  
**Main Pairing: **Draco/Harry  
**Side Pairing(s):**Ron/Hermione(minor), Ginny/Harry(one-sided)  
**Rating:** PG-13 or T  
**Warnings:** homosexuality/heterosexuality, fantasy violence, spoilers for "Deathly Hallows", _NOT canon_ to "Deathly Hallows" epilogue  
**Disclaimer: **InferiorBeing in no way claims to own Harry Potter, the characters or plot of Harry Potter, and does not make any profit from writing/posting this (except the pleasure she gets from reviews).  
**Secondary Disclaimer:** Likewise, InferiorBeing in no way claims to own the characters of Axel, Roxas, and Zexion. She is merely borrowing them so that she does not have to make her own OCCs.  
**Summary: **Seven years have passed since Harry Potter defeated Lord Voldemort, and now – as an Unspeakable – he is given an assignment that forces him to confront feelings stirred in the war that have long lain dormant. He must retrieve Draco Malfoy, preferably alive, at any cost.  
**Author's Note: **As it will soon become apparent, I did take the epilogue to 'Deathly Hallows' and chuck it out the window...

_Chapter One: The Folder_

The small manila folder flopped carelessly onto Harry's desk, as innocently as an inanimate object could, but Harry didn't dare touch it. After a moment, the person who'd dropped it on his desk sighed and drawled, "Considering you seem to want some alone time with it, I'll wait for you in my office, shall I?" He was out the door before Harry could respond, not that Harry really knew what to say.

Alone in his office again, Harry eyed the folder. It was thin – only about an inch thick. Normally, by the time folders arrived at his desk, they were bursting at the seams, so many reports of other agents squashed together that it took Harry at least a day to sort out all the facts. This one was – by comparison – almost eerily thin. Thin folders meant one of two things: either Fred had taken one look at the assignment and assigned it to Harry, or whomever Fred had assigned it to in the first place had died in such a horrific way that Fred had decided to let Harry have a shot at it.

Either way, it was a clear warning that it was something big.

Then again, Harry reminded himself, what wasn't big in his job? He was, after all, an Unspeakable. And Fred had already proven, time and time again, that if an assignment was something he wanted Harry to do, it was something that only Harry could do.

Meeting Fred, Harry's boss, had been an… experience. Harry could remember their first meeting vividly. No one had told him what to expect exactly; in person, Fred had looked a lot less intimidating than Harry had been led to believe by the man's reputation, but the man still held a presence that demanded respect.

Fred was big, over six feet in height with limbs that resembled tree trunks. He had dark hair and eyes that sparked liked whip cracks when angered. He'd greeted Harry in gruff terms, explaining that he was only interviewing him – no more, no less – and he had every right to throw Harry out if he wanted to.

That had been more a formality than anything else. They both knew that there was no way he could throw Harry out, but Harry had nodded as if the threat actually held weight all the same.

Halfway through the interview, Harry realized that Fred was only worried that Harry might want to steal his job. After all, Harry Potter probably wouldn't want to take a lower field job and allow himself to be bossed around by a gruff, middle-aged wizard, no matter how long that same wizard had been successfully leading the Unspeakables.

Once Harry had subtly made it clear that he wanted to be an Unspeakable and not lead the Unspeakables, Fred had given him a ragged impersonation of a smile and said, "Welcome to the Web, kid. You'll fit in just fine."

The Web. That's what they – the Unspeakables – called their job, if asked.

I'm an Unspeakable, they would say, I work in the Web.

And Fred was the one who pulled all the threads. Harry didn't envy him his job – not now, not ever. He didn't think anyone could do what Fred did as well as Fred did it.

The Web was designed to handle what that the Ministry could not handle with the people that the Ministry could not control. Any and all assignments for the Web were delivered to Fred, and it was his job to assign them to the Unspeakable who most fit the assignment. He rarely got it wrong, because it was a foregone conclusion that incompatibility with an assignment got that Spider killed. He'd only been wrong once in the time that Harry had been an Unspeakable – nearly five years now – and Harry had been the second Spider to get that case.

This was why that one option for this folder's size – that the other Spider had died and Fred had re-assigned it to Harry – was a particularly daunting one.

Harry was a difficult Spider to assign cases for, and Fred made sure he reminded Harry of this repeatedly. Being who he was – and being as his scar refused to stay hidden unless under the influence of Polyjuice Potion – he couldn't do much undercover work, if any at all. Polyjuice was all well and good for disguising himself, but there were some problems with it that made it impractical for him to use while on an assignment. For one, he had to become somebody else – someone who already existed. That person would have a background, which could be discovered by people with the right connections. It would be incredibly difficult not to blow his cover if they started poking around. More importantly, Polyjuice was timed. Undercover Spiders rarely had standard working hours. If he missed taking the potion, he would be in big trouble.

So Fred only assigned him to cases where he wouldn't be undercover. Sometimes it was because Fred knew he would need his notoriety to get the assignment done. Sometimes it was because Fred would be sending him in to bring in a particularly nasty wizard. In either case, normally some Auror – or even another Unspeakable if it was a particularly bad case – would handle the case at first and do the undercover part. Then Harry was brought in to finish the job.

Again, it made the state of the folder very suspicious. No case bad enough for him to be assigned to it had that little information attached to it.

* * *

Harry wasn't the only one who had realized this and didn't like it. Axel – the other Unspeakable who worked in this office complex – had been very quiet this morning, which was highly unusual for him.

Harry had met Axel only a little while after he'd become an Unspeakable. He'd first seen Axel from behind and had nearly run up and asked what the bloody hell Ron had done to his hair… before realizing that he was in the small Unspeakable complex in the Ministry of Magic, and that Ron couldn't possibly be there.

Axel looked a lot like Ron with a horrendously bad hair day. His flaming red hair was always spiked and messy, which clashed horribly with the crisp wizard robes that they were all required to wear while in the office. He was tall – almost exactly the same height as Ron, only a few inches taller. But he was thinner than Ron, as if his muscles were knotted cords adhered to his bones. He had no freckles, and he was louder than both the Weasley twins had been together.

Harry had liked him immediately. Which had been a good thing, because only two Unspeakables were allowed to have offices in the same complex for security reasons. The Ministry of Magic already had more than Fred liked of the Unspeakables gathered together, considering that the small complex held not only Harry and Axel's offices, but Fred's office, as well, and Intel.

It was the hub of the Web, and that was why Harry had to be stationed there – Minister's orders. Fred had cursed a wide streak when he'd read that particular message, which had Axel whistling in admiration. One of Axel's hobbies was pissing Fred off, so anything that made him curse like that was admirable.

Axel was often that Unspeakable who did the undercover work for Harry's particularly bad cases, and he was good at it. He blended in well with the dregs of society –those who often had the most useful information. Of course, it helped that he could out drink them all.

That was how Harry had gotten to know him; Axel had taken him out for a drink after 'office hours', as he called them. It had been a strange conversation. After all, they couldn't talk about work. They also couldn't talk about their friends and family, because they were Unspeakables and only the fewest, most trustworthy people were allowed to know the intimate details of friends and family.

That had changed – at least for Harry – after his first really big assignment. Axel had apparently, because Harry still wasn't too sure of the details, been assigned to a case rooting out the leader of a group of dark wizards who called themselves "The Hands of Fate". He'd walked out of the office chortling over the incredibly stupid name on a Friday, leaving Harry in stitches with some of his wittier puns.

On Monday, Harry had been shown into Fred's office to see the Head of Intel waiting, which was never a good sign. Harry had then been handed a slip of paper which contained the number for a room in St. Mungo's and a three line address as Fred had barked at him that he was being ordered to take a day off of work and make sure that Axel got home safely.

Harry still didn't know how Axel's mission had blown up – or even what the mission specs truly had been – but Axel was lucky to escape with his life. He'd been barely coherent when Harry had arrived, muttering about how he had to get home because he had to make sure Roxas was ok.

* * *

Axel lived in a small house, just outside the city. It was the first time Harry had been given such personal information about Axel. It was also then that he met Roxas.

Axel had been barely able to stand, yet he insisted that he had to walk to the front door himself. Harry'd compromised with him and half-carried, half-dragged him to the door. He was fumbling with Axel's key when the door slammed open.

A short blond stood in the doorway, scowling at Axel and Harry. But his eyes were a worried stormy blue as he took Axel from Harry without a word to either of them, carrying Axel inside and nearly slamming the door in Harry's face.

Axel was back in the office a week later, and – since the damage had been done and Harry had already seen who Roxas was – Harry learned more about Roxas and Axel than he ever thought possible to know.

Roxas was Axel's boyfriend of five years. Axel had gone to school in the States, and Roxas had gone to Darmstrang. They'd met during an exchange program and, as soon as Axel had graduated, he'd moved to London to be closer to Roxas.

Though Harry had to wonder how one found the guts to do that, considering Roxas had apparently hated Axel at the time. Their first meeting had not gone so well. But Axel had, either stupidly or bravely, stuck around and worn Roxas down while completing Auror training. He'd then joined the Unspeakables because he found being an Auror too boring.

Axel was, Harry surmised, one of those 'loose cannons' that the Ministry had a lot of trouble controlling.

And apparently Axel had dogged Roxas everywhere. Roxas was an Auror, though specifically he was a Medi wizard who worked in the Aurors. They'd gone through training at the same time, and Axel had done anything and everything he could think of to get Roxas' attention. Each story, as Axel progressed, was more and more amusing to Harry, as Axel had really tried everything to please Roxas.

Which had been an uphill battle to begin with, because Roxas' personality was one of being eternally not pleased with life in general. But something Axel had done had apparently worked, because one day Roxas had demanded Axel move in with him. Axel had given it all of a second's thought before agreeing. Not that he had had much to agree to, Axel pointed out, since Roxas had demanded it and not asked it of him.

Axel did eventually get around to introducing Roxas to Harry formally, and the three of them had gone out for drinks. It was a truly bizarre experience. Harry had watched, flabbergasted, as Axel had fawned over Roxas the entire time, the blond sitting there as if none of Axel's attentions meant anything to him in the least. And Axel didn't fawn over anything, at least not like that! Yet, it obviously was a more than common state for Axel to be in, as Roxas seemed wholly nonplussed about it all.

One would think Roxas didn't really care for Axel at all, purely from the way he acted. Harry, too, had doubted it. But then Axel had told him about why Roxas remained in the Aurors.

Roxas was originally slotted to become an Unspeakable. He entered the Aurors simply to train so that he could then enter the Web. He came from a long line of Unspeakables, and he was proud of his lineage as such. But then Axel had come and, in one fell swoop, whisked all that away.

Roxas had declined to become an Unspeakable because of Axel. He knew Axel wanted to be an Unspeakable because he simply wasn't cut out to be an Auror. Anyone could see it - Axel just couldn't work in the system. But the Web did not allow two Unspeakables to have a relationship. There were too many risks involved already in the job of an Unspeakable to add the stress of worrying over a loved one in a harmful situation. There was too great a risk that one Spider would do something rash if a loved one was in danger.

So Roxas focused on another area of training and bluntly told Axel he was an idiot if he didn't apply to become an Unspeakable, because he'd never make it as an Auror. Roxas had then gone on to become one of the most esteemed Medi wizards in his age group, instead. Working as an Auror had proven both satisfying for Roxas and it gave him the free time he needed to come to Axel's rescue if Axel ever needed extraction from a potentially volatile situation but Fred couldn't send another Unspeakable in.

And that had – apparently – happened more than once.

It was hard to reconcile the image of Roxas who all but ignored Axel when he sang his praises, with the other image – the Roxas who'd reshaped his life for Axel. Harry could see it though, every Tuesday.

Roxas didn't drink. Ever. But every Tuesday, without fail, he and Axel met Harry at the pub almost half way between their house and Harry's flat for drinks. He would sit and drink his one glass of water the entire night as Harry drank his normal few beers and Axel got ritually smashed. Axel would get louder and more and more affectionate as the night went on, and Roxas bore it stoically, as if enduring a penance for some sin he had committed. Then, when Axel finally passed out and Harry was again sober enough to apparate, Roxas would gently tuck Axel into the Floo system and take him home.

It was a strange dynamic, indeed, but somehow it worked.

It also gave Harry something to talk about when he visited with Ron and Hermione. It was hard to have a conversation with them when he couldn't talk about his work – where there were details that just couldn't be shared with anyone else. Last names, for example. Fred, Axel, – even Zexion, the Head of Intel – Harry knew no one else's last name. Harry was probably the only Unspeakable whose last name was known by everyone else, and under normal circumstances he wouldn't have been allowed into the Web because of it. But he could tell Ron and Hermione about 'Axel the strange co-worker', because Axel always was in trouble with someone over something stupid and it helped to break any awkward tension that came up during their conversations the first few weeks after his induction into the Web.

Ron and Hermione had reacted predictably to Axel. Ron had thought he was a right bloke and sounded like a good friend to have at one's back if you needed him. Hermione thought he was childish and impulsive, but her eyes shone with a smile, even as she frowned when Harry regaled them with Axel's latest Roxas-induced misfortune.

It was too bad, Harry thought, that he really couldn't introduce his friends to each other. It was unheard of for Spiders of the Web to know other Spider' friends or to be friends with them – which was what he was sure would happen if he ever introduced Axel and Roxas to Hermione and Ron.

It did occur to Harry that Axel and Roxas were, in fact, very much like Ron and Hermione, respectively. And he even brought it up to Axel one day, but Axel had looked at him like he was crazy and muttered, "the hell's wrong with that?" so Harry had shrugged and dismissed the notion as unimportant.

Because, really, in the grand scheme of things, it wasn't all that important. He had Ron and Hermione, and they would always be closer to him than friends – more like family. And then he had Axel and Roxas, who took him drinking every Tuesday and treated him as if he wasn't Harry Potter: Defeater Of Lord Voldemort, but Harry: one of Axel's coworkers who put up with his strange antics.

* * *

Despite Axel's behavior, Harry would be the first to say that he wasn't really all that strange. Strange, as a title, belonged to the Head of Intel, the man who'd given Harry the diagnosis that St. Mungo's had made of Axel after that assignment literally blew up in his face, the man who had just dropped Harry's newest assignment on his desk.

That in itself sent off warning bells in Harry's mind, because Zexion's job was to write up, file, and send such folders to Fred. When the Ministry wanted something done about someone or something, the request was sent to Zexion by whomever was concerned enough to call in the Unspeakables. Zexion then consulted the vast databank of the Web and made up a case folder, like the one he'd carelessly dropped on Harry's desk, though these folders were normally a lot thicker. This case folder was then given to Fred, who decided where it went before it was carried off to the Spider assigned to deal with it. It was not Zexion's job to carry the case files to the Spider in question – even such a high-profile Spider as Harry.

What it meant when Zexion carried a file into Harry's office was simple: he'd been in Fred's office because Fred had needed to discuss something about the case with him, and Fred had oh-so-casually told Zexion when their meeting was through that, since he was in the neighborhood, he could drop it off with Harry when he headed back to Intel. That Zexion had been called into Fred's office to discuss the case was the problem. It only happened when there was some aspect of the case which was very dangerous – something that even Fred would stop for a moment and seriously consider.

Zexion had only delivered a file by hand to Harry once before, and Harry would never forget that case.

On the surface, it had been about a drug ring in Berlin which seemed to have ties to a dark wizard sect in London. What Harry had discovered, only once he'd gotten to Berlin, was that it wasn't a drug ring at all, but an assassin ring, and the dark wizard sect involved was The Hands of Fate. But, in Berlin, they had been calling themselves "Neo Death Eaters".

Harry had almost needed extraction from that case. And it had been close to blowing up on him more than once. But he'd managed it – with a lovely set of loopy scars over his left shoulder to show for it.

Harry didn't want to know why Fred called Zexion into his office for this case, he really didn't. Fred could barely stand to be in the same room as Zexion – another reason why the points of discussion between the two of them were always over hugely important or dangerous details.

Zexion accomplished – merely with his presence – exactly what Axel constantly strived to do: piss Fred off to no end. Fred referred to Zexion as "that nancy boy over in Intel". While Axel probably acted more flamboyantly than Zexion ever would, Axel at least looked like he could take care of himself. Zexion was thinner than Axel – thinner also than Harry – tall and slender, with almost feminine features. He was also a metamorphmagus, like Tonks had been, and – as such – the color he preferred his hair to be was a slate blue.

According to Axel, the first time Zexion met Fred, Fred had gone ballistic and tried to get him kicked out purely because of his hair. But Zexion had been too good for Intel to let go, even as an adjunct. During his first week as Head of Intel, when he'd finally worked his way up through the ranks, he wore his hair a different shade of blue every single day – just to make a point to Fred – before settling on his 'normal' shade of slate blue. When Fred had demanded to know why he couldn't settle on a normal color, Zexion had blithely replied that it matched the color of his eyes – which it did.

According to Axel, there was a rather large betting pool set up as to what color Zexion wore his hair when not in the office – if it was indeed some normal color, or if it really was the slate blue. Of course, such betting was foolish because no one in the Web would ever see Zexion outside of work, so they would never know. But Harry personally bet that Zexion really did like it slate blue – remembering Tonks and her crazy hair colors.

Zexion had none of Tonks' coordination problems – he moved as if each step he took was carefully calculated for maximum effect. He rarely spoke. When he did, it was in a quiet, serious voice. He was anti-social, even for a member of the Web and especially for the Head of Intel, but he also seemed to know just about everything that happened to wizards and muggles alike in the world outside the Web. Harry supposed that was his job, but Zexion always carried an air of someone who knew it all and was disappointed that he couldn't learn any more. Zexion could also find out anything about anyone. In fact, most Unspeakables began their cases by sending Zexion a list of questions that had come to them when reading their case file. If he didn't know, he only asked for twenty-four hours to obtain the information. Normally, he had the answer in twelve.

And, despite Zexion's looks, he was cunning and ruthless on the very rare occasion that he went into the field. He was the Head of Intel, after all, and not a Field Spider like Harry or Axel, but he could still hold his own in any match of physical prowess on a good day, and he could out duel anyone other than Harry any day.

Zexion, though a lot quieter and calmer than Axel, was probably another one of those 'loose cannons' that the Ministry couldn't control.

But people like Zexion and Axel were why Harry was here in the Web. He had tried to be an Auror, and he didn't have the problems with the system that other Unspeakables seemed to have had before joining the Web, but he still didn't fit in. He was too powerful and too famous, even if he could take orders from someone else. Because of who he was, he was incompatible with almost every partner they'd tried to give him, and it unnerved even seasoned Aurors to give orders to Harry Potter. So he'd gone to where there were people on par with him, where he would have to use all his skills to defeat Zexion in a duel or where he could only win two out of three arm-wrestling matches with Axel on their lunch break. He'd gone to people like Fred, who had no problem telling him exactly what he needed done in no uncertain terms and didn't want to coddle him or cater to him because of his history.

And it was his job as an Unspeakable in the Web to handle any case that Fred dictated he handle, even if it was hand-delivered to him by Zexion.

He'd been putting it off for long enough already. Zexion had left his office a good five minutes ago.

He flicked open the file and read the summary of the mission parameters.

Objective: Locate and retrieve one Draco Lucius Malfoy. Alive, preferably. Dead, if necessary.

**

* * *

**

**Additional Notes:  
(1)**_Axel, Roxas, and Zexion_ – This note is aimed only at readers who are either wary of these characters or recognize what fandom they are from. If you are not one of those readers, please feel free to ignore this note. First of all, anyone who has read my other stories – specifically "Fantasies of the Open Mind" – knows what I do when faced with the need for an OCC character who has a somewhat major role to play: I grab characters from other fandoms, strip them down to their personalities and appearances, and insert them into the story. This way, I avoid any Gary/Mary Sue problems. Why did I need OCCs for this fic? Well, it was a choice between a rock and a hard place – I either put in OCCs as Unspeakables, or I subscribe to the cliché that all of Harry's friends follow him to his choice of work. Obviously, I picked OCCs over cliché plot schemes. Axel, Roxas, and Zexion all come from one source, Kingdom Hearts 2. If you don't like that video game, or have never played it, don't worry; as I said, these are the bare bones of the characters – just their personalities and appearances. There will be no crossover from KH2. If you have played that video game and love it, please realize that these are the bare bones of the characters – just their personalities and appearances. There will be no crossover from KH2 – they are in the HP fandom, so they are wizards (no keyblades will be making appearances… no Heartless, for that matter, either). And, to tell you the truth, they aren't the main characters – Harry and Draco are (one could even stretch that to Hermione, Ron, and Ginny). I'm only using them because I needed them.  
**(2) _How major will these OCCs be? _– **Not very. As I said in the previous note, I'm using them because I needed characters that JKR didn't provide – i.e. not Harry's best friends or year mates. They have their parts to play, but they will not overshadow the "real" Harry Potter characters. They are merely additions, added for advancing the plot. Hopefully you will enjoy them. If you don't… my apologies; please don't force yourself to read the fic.

**status: beta'd by Ayeshah Harvey-Lomas**


	2. The Assignment

_Chapter Two: The Assignment_

Zexion was waiting, office door already open, for when Harry came storming down the hallway and flung the folder down onto Zexion's desk.

"What in Merlin's name is this?" he spat, rather than asked.

Zexion looked up at him calmly, not at all surprised by his outburst or anger. "It's your next assignment." Slight curiosity tinged his voice as he opened the folder and leaned over it. "How far did you get before rampaging down here?"

Harry shifted awkwardly. "The first page."

"I thought so. You probably wouldn't be nearly as mad if you had read the assignment all the way through."

Harry refused to be thrown off course. "So who posted the bounty on Draco Malfoy?"

Zexion's mouth quirked at Harry's snide choice of words. "The Head of Aurors."

Harry's stomach did a back flip. _Ron?_ Ron had… but why?

Zexion sighed and motioned for Harry to pull up a chair. "You want to know why, don't you?"

Harry nodded. "Why does-" _Ron_, "-the Head of Aurors want Malfoy brought in? He hasn't done anything since-"

"That's precisely the point, Harry," Zexion cut him off. "Since he was acquitted a few months after your victory over He-Who-Was-Defeated-" Harry cringed at the name that wizards now used for Lord Voldemort, still too afraid to actually say his name, but not scared enough to call him by his old pseudonym, "-Draco Malfoy has done absolutely nothing. As for all those who had associations with Death Eaters, the Aurors have files on the entire Malfoy family. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy have visibly retired to one of their villas in Rome – they're easy to track. But their son seems to have locked himself up in Malfoy Manor and seems intent on staying there. He hasn't been seen in public since his acquittal, the Floo network has registered no one entering or leaving any of the Malfoy Manor fireplaces, and no owls have gone in or out. It is not suspicious for Draco Malfoy to choose to become a recluse after the war – one might even expect it, considering his part in it – but to such a severity?"

"It's still just conjecture," Harry muttered. It made perfect sense to _him_.

Zexion rolled his eyes towards the heavens. "Harry, you seem to think that we're against Draco Malfoy, that we want him brought in for another trial, or worse. We don't. We need you to find him for as much his own protection as ours."

"Why?" Harry asked.

"You're familiar with how the Aurors are run these days, aren't you? Ronald Weasley has done a tremendous job in ironing out the old kinks in the system. There has to be a valid reason for Aurors to search for someone, and it can't just be that they happen to have a fondness for Dark Arts. The Aurors need proof that the practice of Dark Arts – or any practice, for that matter – is being used by the person in question to harm others before they can investigate."

"So then investigating Draco Malfoy is illegal," Harry snapped.

"No, you're looking at this assignment from the wrong viewpoint. Who have we been having more and more trouble with lately, Harry? These Neo Death Eater sects have been popping up all over the world. You remember your case in Berlin, correct?"

Harry bristled at the barb, but said nothing.

"For all they use his name scheme, these people aren't followers of He-Who-Was-Defeated. They're terrorists, plain and simple, using his beliefs as an excuse to discriminate against and persecute muggles. They don't always use the Dark Arts to do such, which is one of the reasons why the Aurors are having so much trouble tracking them down. But some of them slipped up a few months ago.- they approached Lucius Malfoy for aid."

Harry started in surprise. He hadn't heard of this.

"The Head of Aurors didn't even bother to send any Aurors first. When Lucius Malfoy discretely contacted the Ministry and tipped us off, the assignment was immediately sent to me, to Fred, and to our closest Spider in Rome. It still wasn't enough; they had disappeared, and we couldn't track them very far. They haven't approached either of the elder Malfoys since, though I believe Mr. Weasley has arranged for a few Aurors check up on them from time to time to make sure."

Harry was still trying to wrap his mind around the concept that Lucius Malfoy had been against these "New" Death Eaters. It said quite a lot about them as a group if _Malfoy_ was against their plans.

"It was Narcissa Malfoy who raised an alarm next. It was a small thing, really. She was worried about her son because she'd written to him after that event and her owl had returned, the letter unopened and untouched. Until then, we had turned a blind eye to Draco Malfoy's withdrawal from society but, if even his parents are unable to reach him, there must be a reason beyond what everyone had assumed. Or, at least, that was the Head of Aurors' thoughts on the matter.

"A letter was sent to Malfoy Manor first, merely requesting that Mr. Malfoy write back stating whether he was well or not, because his mother had requested it. It, too, was returned untouched and unopened. Looking at the bird a bit closer, we – Intel, that is – determined that the bird herself didn't even see Draco Malfoy or even enter the Manor.

"This prompted an investigation, though still very discrete, as it was purely on the whim of two worried parents and a suspicious Head of Aurors. One Auror was sent to figure out what was going on. You'll find his report after the preliminary summary." Zexion gestured to the open folder on his desk.

"What did he find?"

"Nothing. He couldn't even find the house."

"How could he not find the house? It's a Manor! Wouldn't it be rather obvious where it was?" Harry asked, flabbergasted.

"One would think," Zexion replied, amused. "But Malfoy Manor eluded the Auror searching for it, somehow. When the Auror's investigation failed, it was sent here. To you, specifically."

"Why to me?" Harry wondered. He wasn't suited for investigation, as Fred had reminded him repeatedly.

"Three reasons." Zexion lazily raised a hand with three fingers outstretched. "One, Mr. Weasley specifically requested you. Considering his background with you, Fred took that into serious consideration."

One finger went down. "Two," Zexion continued. "Malfoy Manor is like many houses from ancient families. You can only find it if you already know where it is." Harry immediately thought of the House of Black. Well, that at least made sense. "Also, as with old houses which have been in the possession of a single family for centuries, they are extremely loyal to their family. Malfoy Manor is, obviously, echoing its current master's wish to not be found – for better or for worse. You are the only Spider we have who has previously been to Malfoy Manor, which makes you the obvious best candidate for the job, even if the Head of Aurors hadn't specifically requested you."

Another finger went down. "Third, it was your testimony, and your testimony alone, that kept the entire Malfoy family out of Azkaban after the war. I believe Mr. Weasley and a Miss Granger – now Mrs. Weasley – testified on Draco Malfoy's behalf, as you were still de-briefing about the defeat of He-Who-Was-Defeated at the time, but it was you alone who testified for Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. With such a high profile family as the Malfoys, if this goes public, it will not be a pretty scene. However, you are already associated with telling the 'truth'-" Zexion lazily made quotes in the air with his fingers, "-about the Malfoys' side during the war."

Harry glared at him as if daring him to continue that thought, but Zexion merely smiled and went back to his explanation.

"Therefore, if it _does_ go public, you are the only Spider we have that the public would trust." He gestured to the folder which Harry slowly closed and picked up. As Harry headed for the door, Zexion's voice stopped him.

"Close the door, Potter. There's more."

Frowning, Harry closed the door. The room hummed for a bit as a series of privacy spells – Zexion's specialty – settled into place.

"Fred has issues with this case, Potter. He called me into his office to discuss them this morning."

Harry sat down in the chair again, a bit too quickly.

"The Aurors have been having problems with these Neo Death Eaters. _We _have had problems with them, as well. _You_ have had problems with them. And that is what is driving Fred crazy about this assignment. These Neo Death Eaters aren't organized. They don't have any one leader. They aren't working in any conventional manner. They're popping up around the world, but their pockets don't stay in one place for very long. They're like a rabid beast, swerving its way across the world.

"They don't have support from anyone in the public eye, and that has more than just Fred scared. Fred thinks – and I agree – that these Neo Death Eaters themselves are a bit scared. They have no figurehead – no Dark Lord – to rally under, and they aren't following the former Dark Lord's plan. They're just sick, twisted individuals banning together because they can. They know – and so do we – that they will soon mess up somewhere and, when that happens, they'll be caught in the Spider Web. Fred and other Unspeakable Heads from around the world have been spinning this web for well over two years now, and everyone knows it's only a matter of time before someone gets caught and we'll start hunting these Neo Death Eaters down like they're in season.

"They _need_ support, Potter, from someone high up. From someone with means. Preferably from someone who had connections to the former Dark Lord. Everyone, Potter, _every single one_ of the former Dark Lord's Death Eaters is either dead or in Azkaban – largely because of you. All of his Marked followers are accounted for… except for three. The three you and yours kept out of Azkaban.

"Fred believes that they're not a threat, by the way. He takes your testimony in complete faith. We all do. The memories of your final battles with He-Who-Was-Defeated prove that, even without testimony under Veritaserum, yet you insisted that as well. And the recent actions of both Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy only reinforce that trust."

Zexion leaned across his desk, staring Harry down. "We are _worried_ for Draco Malfoy, Harry. He's the _only_ option left for the Neo Death Eaters. Fred thinks, and I agree, that his enforced solitude may not be completely of his own making. We are worried that he has a reason to hide from these Neo Death Eaters, or that they are _making_ him hide."

Zexion's wand flicked out and the door opened, privacy locks dis-engaging. "There is no time limit for this assignment, Harry, but I'm sure you can see why Fred will be so anxious to have it completed. I will be your contact for this case."

Again at the door, Harry started in surprise. He seemed to be doing that a lot this morning. "You? But you hate the Field!"

Zexion sighed in agreement. "Yes, I do. However, I am a Spider. Fred and I have agreed that you will most likely need information that you do not have in that folder in order to complete this case, but we have no idea what kind of information that may be. Therefore, I will be your contact, so as to supply you with whatever information there is at the Web's disposal."

Harry nodded, but didn't leave the room. "One last question for you, Zexion," he leaned in the doorway. "The Auror who did the first investigation - who was it?"

"Ronald Weasley," Zexion replied with a smile. "Apparently, he wouldn't trust anyone else to do the job in an unbiased manner. It caused quite a stir with his underlings."

Harry grinned, picturing that. The Head of Aurors running off on a wild goose hunt, leaving all the other Aurors waiting for him to come back. It sounded like something Ron would do. "Thanks, Zexion. I'll see you in the Web, then."

"That you will. Now get out of my office, Potter. I have a lot of work to do."

* * *

Harry paused at his office long enough to grab his heavy winter cloak. It was January, and it was absolutely frigid in his apartment until someone got the fire going – and, even then, there were places where warming charms were needed.

Axel was waiting for him, pouring himself what must have been around his twentieth cup of coffee for the day. Roxas had once suggested that he just start taking caffeine pills and stop ruining his teeth, but Axel genuinely liked the taste of strong, black coffee when it was scalding hot.

"You're going out, then?" the voice was too calm to be believed; he was worried.

"Yeah."

"Difficult?" Again, the voice's tone would imply that Axel had no care to really know Harry's answer, yet he'd stopped stirring his cup and was gripping the countertop with white-knuckled hands.

"I have no idea," Harry replied truthfully. "Could be as easy as going to see an old friend-" and oh how strange it was to be saying _that_ about an assignment where he was expected to find and retrieve Malfoy _alive or dead_, "-or about as hard as my assignment in Berlin."

Axel winced. It had gone around the Web that Harry had encountered Neo Death Eaters in Berlin quite quickly. It had, after all, been the first proof they'd had that Neo Death Eaters were a world-wide problem and not merely a pestilence in the British Isles.

"Well," he said at last, "if you need extraction-"

"Zexion's my contact," Harry murmured low, even though they were the only two in the room – never mind the only two in the hall way, or even in this wing of the complex.

Axel sighed in relief. "Good. At least they're not sending you out with some greenhorn. They did that to me once; more trouble than if you didn't have a contact at all."

Harry grinned and nodded. "Anyway, I'll be back before you know it. Perhaps with souvenirs, too."

Axel threw back his head and laughed.

Harry turned and passed by him, heading for the Floo.

"Harry."

Harry paused, one hand full of Floo powder.

"If you need a safe house… well… you know."

Harry smiled. "Harvest Home."

"I better not hear that you went to some _other_ Spider's house for safety, got it?" Axel's tone was playful, but Harry got what he was really trying to say.

"I don't _know_ any other Spiders, Axel," Harry replied flippantly, tossing the powder into the fireplace and stepping in. "Potter apartment," he told the fire and waved good-bye to Axel as green flames whooshed him away.

* * *

Hermione had told him that he should come up with a better name for his flat the first time she and Ron had visited. 'Potter apartment' wasn't very original, she'd said, and it would be easy for someone Harry might not want inside his flat to think of it. Harry hadn't been able to explain to her that no one he didn't want getting into his fireplace would be able to get inside – it was another one of those Unspeakable secrets.

Modeled like the old family houses – like the House of Black or, apparently, Malfoy Manor – one could only Floo inside if one _knew_ where the house was. And Floo addresses could easily be changed. Roxas and Axel had changed theirs a few times after Harry had been forced to use their house as a safe house during assignments. So what if their Floo address was different from their house address? It was still safe, and that was what mattered.

Of course, Harry hadn't been able to tell Hermione any of that. When she'd told him he should change it, he'd merely said that anyone who wanted to come into his apartment should feel free to try it. They'd have to deal with-

"The Master is home."

"Good afternoon, Kreacher."

"The Master should have told Kreacher he was coming home for dinner early. Kreacher would have prepared dinner-"

"It's fine, Kreacher. I haven't changed my plans. I won't be here come dinnertime."

"If Master stayed in his _rightful house_, it would be no problem for Kreacher to-"

Harry nodded absently as he walked past Kreacher and collapsed upon a sofa. Kreacher's newest problem – and he seemed to rotate problems like the seasons – was again that Harry had steadfastly refused to live in the House of Black. After Harry had fixed it up, back to the grandeur that it had once been, Kreacher could not possibly fathom why Harry refused to live in that house.

Because, for all that he owned the House Elf that came with the house, the House of Black would never truly be Harry's home. It would always be Sirius' house, in his mind.

Feet pulled up on the already scuffed coffee table, Harry shrugged off his outer robe – quickly banished to the closet by Kreacher – and opened the folder, pausing as his eyes traced over the name emblazoned upon the front page. He frowned briefly as the now-familiar images flashed across his mind.

_Malfoy's eyes peering at him, and the dread that he'd felt. Malfoy would know him. There was no way Malfoy wouldn't recognize him._

_Malfoy _did _recognize him. Not only him. Malfoy knew who they all were. Of course he did. Harry had seen the recognition flash across his eyes, the only thing which changed in Malfoy's fearful expression. And then Malfoy had blinked. Recognition was hidden by false confusion. _

Harry didn't understand it now any more than he had back then.

Perhaps this was truly what a wizard's debt felt like, he'd often wondered. Of course, it made no sense. He, Hermione, and Ron had saved Malfoy's life after Malfoy had lied about not knowing who Harry was. When Malfoy had been tried, Harry had to plead with Hermione and Ron to testify on Malfoy's behalf, because they felt as if they had already repaid their debt.

And perhaps they had. But Harry, despite all that had happened during the final battle with Voldemort, had still felt the nagging sensation that he owed Draco Malfoy. He had been scheduled to testify about the final battle with Voldemort the whole day Malfoy's trial had been scheduled for, so he had begged Hermione and Ron to testify because he couldn't.

Surprisingly, they hadn't asked him why he was so set on someone testifying on Draco Malfoy's behalf. They had just agreed. And they still hadn't asked him about it.

It hadn't helped, though. Even if it was indirectly his doings that saved Draco Malfoy from Azkaban, it still did not sate the feeling that he owed Malfoy. So, when Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy had been tried for their participation, Draco Malfoy sitting front and center in the thrall who had packed into the chamber to see the trial, Harry had testified for them.

He had been the only one. And they had narrowly escaped Azkaban.

Harry admitted that it was very lucky that Lucius Malfoy's wand had been destroyed long before – another indirect action of Harry's – because if it had still been in existence, then Harry was sure Lucius, at least, would not have walked free that day.

He had seen the confusion on Draco Malfoy's face when Harry had stepped up to defend his parents, but even that did not quell the feeling that he had not yet repaid what was owed.

When Draco Malfoy had disappeared, shutting himself inside Malfoy Manor, Harry had been able to suppress those feelings. After all, if Malfoy didn't get into any trouble, there was nothing Harry could to do.

But now there was something going on, and Harry had a sneaky suspicion as to why Ron specifically had requested him as the Unspeakable for this assignment. He would bet that Ron had been told by Hermione, but it made no difference.

They knew. They must have known. That was why Ron hadn't mentioned to him what had happened to Lucius Malfoy nor what he had done when Narcissa Malfoy had called the Aurors to search out her son. That was why Ron himself had done the investigation. It wasn't that Ron cared about what happened to Draco Malfoy – no, the feud between the Weasleys and Malfoys was still healthy and strong – but because he – or Hermione – had guessed how Harry would react if he had known.

Harry would have taken things into his own hands, if he had known, and that was something he couldn't have done until an assignment had been given to the Unspeakables. Which it had been. And now he had one last chance to repay Draco Malfoy.

**status: beta'd by Ayeshah Harvey-Lomas**


	3. The Meeting

_Chapter Three: The Meeting_

Hermione was just setting the table when Harry rolled out of the fireplace, traces of "the Den" still on his lips. There was a small clatter as she dropped the silverware she had been holding on the table and ran over to where he was brushing ash off his cloak.

"Harry!" was the only warning Harry got before he was pulled into a hug so strong the wind was knocked out of him.

"Hermione. You're looking well, as always." 'Well' did not really describe Hermione. Rose, Hermione and Ron's first child, had been born a few weeks ago, and yet she still had not lost the glow of a newly-made mother. "Can I help with anything?"

Hermione mock glared at him. "You and Ron, still treating me as if I'm going to collapse at any minute! You go see Ron, he's upstairs with the baby."

Harry grinned. "Still hasn't gotten over the shock, has he?"

"I think he's wondering how he finally managed to get something right," Hermione laughed.

"Now, I'll have you know I get quite a lot right!"

Harry turned to the figure standing in the doorway frowning at both of them with a frown that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Hey, Ron," he called over to his best friend, moving out of Hermione's way as she went back to setting the table.

Harry's eyes briefly scanned the place settings already laid out. Five. That was two place settings too many. He opened his mouth to ask about the extra two settings, but Hermione beat him to it.

"I've been meaning to owl you about Rose's naming ceremony. You will be there, won't you?"

Harry started to say that of course he would be there, but the words stuck in his throat. "I'll try, Hermione," was all he said.

Both Hermione and Ron froze, as they often did whenever something about Harry's work loomed over them.

"I was given an assignment this morning, and I don't know if I'll be back in time."

Hermione's lips pursed, but she went back to setting the table. "Well, then we'll delay Rose's naming ceremony until you get back," she said briskly, as if this sort of thing happened all the time and wasn't a problem.

"Speaking of which," Harry turned to his best friend. "Ron, I need to talk to you for a bit. About work."

Ron and Hermione shared a knowing look and Harry internally crowed in triumph. They _had _known. He was sure of it now.

"Come on then, mate," Ron said. "We'll talk in the sitting room."

He closed the doors to the kitchen behind them, although Harry didn't care if Hermione heard them or not. It was purely the principle of the matter, he supposed.

"So you got the case, then?" Ron asked, fiddling with the framed picture of baby Rose already sitting on the nearby coffee table.

"You knew I would," Harry replied.

"I suspected. Especially once you knew who it was about."

"How long have you and Hermione known?" Harry asked, and they both knew it was not work they were discussing now.

"Since after the war, mate. It was rather obvious, wasn't it? What with you begging Hermione and me to testify for Malfoy, and then you testifying for his parents. Moved your own sessions around and all to do it, if I remember correctly."

"Yeah, I did. I always thought it was strange that you and Hermione didn't press me about it."

"Well, we figured when the time was right, you'd tell us. Or you'd repay whatever it was you felt you owed the ferret and be done with it. Obviously you haven't done that yet." Ron looked curiously over at Harry. "Since it's out in the open and all now, what exactly _do_ you owe him?"

Harry shrugged. "I'm not exactly sure. I keep remembering what happened in Malfoy Manor-"

"But surely you repaid that, mate!" Ron interjected. "We all did, during the battle. We actively saved his life twice! If anything, it's _him_ owing _us_."

"Do you feel he owes you anything?" Harry asked, curious.

Ron shrugged. "No. Feels all square to me and Hermione. You sure what you're feeling isn't him owing you?"

"Pretty positive."

Ron sighed. "Well, that's why I requested you get the case. I figure this ought to settle it."

"That's why you didn't tell me about what happened to Malfoy's parents too."

"Yeah. Unspeakable or not, you have to follow protocol too, right? Hermione and I weren't sure if you still felt like you owed him something or not, but we decided we wouldn't tell you until you got the assignment. You're really the only one the Unspeakables could send."

"Yeah, that's what they said anyway. Because of Malfoy Manor."

"That is one freaky house, mate," Ron muttered. "Even worse than the House of Black."

"What did you find when you looked for it?" Harry asked.

"Nothing!" Ron flailed. "That's the freaky part! I _knew_ I was in the right spot, apparated right to where the doorstep should be, but there was nothing there. Not even an empty field or two, and the Ministry records show that Malfoy Manor has acres of fields surrounding it! It was a bloody forest! I apparated right next to a tree – nearly apparated _into_ the tree. No house, no grounds, not even a bloody peacock! It's just not there."

"You can't just pick up and move an estate like that, though," Harry murmured. Ron's report in the folder had said as much, but it still made no sense to him.

"I know. But something's going on with it. And whatever it is, it's no spell that I know of." _Or Hermione knows of,_ went unsaid, as well as the conclusion that could only be drawn from that: _so it means it's Dark Arts hiding the house._

"Well, I'll just have to drag him out of whatever rock he's hiding under, I guess," Harry muttered.

"You'll be back in a few days, then," Ron agreed, though Harry wasn't so sure.

Ron turned to head back into the kitchen, but Harry spoke again before he could open the doors.

"Hey, Ron? Who else is coming to dinner tonight?"

Ron looked sheepishly over his shoulder. "Ginny is bringing Teddy to dinner. Says he misses his godfather."

Harry's eyes rolled skyward. "Ron, you know I visit him every Friday afternoon. That's just an excuse."

"I know that," Ron muttered, fingering the golden wedding band on his finger – a nervous habit he'd picked up only after his marriage to Hermione almost a year ago. "But-"

"But what, Ron?" Harry nearly growled at his friend. "Once, I remember you telling me – vehemently – not to lead your little sister on. So why, then, does everyone keep shoving her in front of me?"

"Harry, the war is over," Ron shot back. "You may be an Unspeakable, but that doesn't mean you can't have a family. You're always telling us about that Axel guy and his-"

"Maybe I don't want a family, Ron." Harry's reply was sullen, and it stopped Ron mid-sentence. "Not right now. And I don't want her waiting for me. So whatever everyone keeps telling her, make them stop."

"No one's telling her anything, Harry." Ron's reply was just as soft as Harry's. "She's waiting for you by herself."

Harry opened his mouth to reply, but the kitchen doors swung open, and a blur that could only be his godson ran into the room, arms outstretched. "Harry! Harry!"

Harry's sullen look dropped away in an instant as he scooped the seven-year-old up into a hug, ignoring the young red-haired woman that stood in the doorway.

* * *

Dinner was a tense affair for everyone involved except Teddy, who was only interested in telling his godfather about how he'd mastered the thing that Harry had done on his broom the Friday before, and how he'd scared his grandma doing it. Almost instantly after dinner was over, Harry volunteered to take Teddy back home, and the two of them disappeared into the fireplace faster than if they had apparated out.

As she helped clear the remaining dishes, Ginny kept shooting hopeful glances at the fireplace, as if waiting for Harry to return.

"I don't think he's coming back tonight, Ginny," Hermione said at last. "He was given an assignment this morning and-"

"That's not why he's not coming back, and you know it," Ginny interrupted her. "He's avoiding me."

"Perhaps," Hermione agreed, sadly. "Or perhaps he's trying to give you some space so you can move on."

"But why?" Ginny asked, looking in that moment like a lost little girl and not the secure woman she had grown up to be. "The war is over; what is he waiting for now?"

Hermione sighed. She'd had this conversation over and over with Ginny, once it had become apparent to her what Harry was doing. "He's not waiting for anything, Ginny," she said.

"What do you mean?"

"He doesn't want a family right now," Hermione explained. "I heard him tell Ron that tonight."

"We don't have to be a _family_," Ginny muttered, and Hermione stared at her in shock.

"Ginny, don't say that! Your mother would skin you both-"

"Mum doesn't have to know," Ginny nearly shouted, before realizing what she had just said and hastily adding, "Not right away, at least."

Hermione shook her head in amazement. "You know the minute anything happened, your mother would find out. But that's not the point, Ginny. Harry doesn't want further attachments right now."

"And he told you that?" Ginny challenged.

Hermione thought back to what she'd heard Harry and Ron talk about only moments before Ginny herself arrived. "Yes," she replied, not wanting to tell Ginny exactly what Harry had said.

Ginny frowned, the plate she held in her hands slamming down on the counter with a bit more force than necessary. Hermione quickly spelled the small crack this had caused closed and added it to the sink where two brushes were scrubbing the dishes clean.

"Then what _does_ he want?" Ginny huffed, sitting down at the table. "His job? I think being an Unspeakable is bad for him."

"Ginny, Harry loves being an Unspeakable," Hermione said gently, sitting down across from her.

"He can do the same things as an Auror as he does as an Unspeakable!" Ginny spat.

"No, he can't. You remember what it was like when he was an Auror. He was miserable because no one wanted to give orders to Harry Potter."

"But Ron's in charge now. _He_ wouldn't have problems giving Harry orders-"

"Ron was the only Auror they could partner Harry with. Now that he's Head Auror, they'd need another partner for Harry. It wouldn't work, Ginny, and you know that. Besides-"

"So _you_ wouldn't like to see him switch back?" Ginny challenged. "If he wasn't an Unspeakable?"

Hermione's eyes hardened as she stared Ginny down. "Of course I would love for Harry to be an Auror again. But I know that Harry would hate it, and I don't want that for Harry. If being an Unspeakable makes Harry happy, then Ron and I will support his choice. No matter what oddities Harry being an Unspeakable brings into our lives."

* * *

Harry poured over the thin folder's contents until long after the stars had begun to fade from the night sky outside his bedroom window – almost until dawn.

Speaking with Ron had both confirmed and added to Ron's own report, and the first thing Harry did was add notes to what Ron had written.

Malfoy Manor _was _hiding itself, but even Harry – who was about as far removed from specializing in the domestic magics as could be – knew that there was a limit to what even the oldest, most magical of wizarding houses could do.

This was no mansion pretending to be a summer cottage so that muggles wouldn't see it. In fact, according to what documents the Ministry had, Malfoy Manor had never indulged in pretending to be any less ostentatious than it was. And, no matter how loyal it had become to the Malfoy family over the centuries they had lived within its walls, Harry highly doubted that even a Malfoy could convince it to do such now.

The forest Ron had mentioned troubled Harry. When he had first read Ron's report, he thought he had understood the forest from its description. If the House of Black could pretend that that Number 12 did not exist, he saw no reason why Malfoy Manor couldn't – in its entirety – pretend to be a forest.

But Ron's adamant protest that he'd nearly apparated _inside_ a tree had shot that thought down with a bludger. Ron had known where Malfoy Manor was – he _could not_ have been fooled by any illusions the house might have made to hide itself.

Which all pointed to the fact that the forest was no illusion.

Which was impossible. Land was one of the exceptions to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration, arguably one of the most confining as 'moving' land was also considered 'creating' land. There was no way that Draco Malfoy could have taken his house and his house's _grounds_ anywhere. Nor could he have put a forest in their place.

So the forest _had _to be an illusion. An illusion of such quality that one could see, hear, and touch as real. Harry had to agree with Ron that an illusion of such quality could only be obtained through the use of highly advanced Dark Arts.

Not that Harry had expected anything less from Draco Malfoy.

But that conclusion had to narrow it down somewhat, Harry hoped. Nothing had entered Malfoy Manor since Malfoy's trial. So, whatever it was that was sustaining this illusion that Malfoy was using was something that didn't have to be replenished. Even Malfoy Manor – especially right after Voldemort's defeat – could not have had stores enough for seven years worth of any one item.

That ruled out all potions and any complex spells that used a perishable ingredient.

That _had_ to count for something – how many other such advanced Dark Arts illusion spells could there be?

Harry had no idea – Dark Arts research wasn't his specialty.

It wasn't Zexion's specialty either, but he could find whoever's specialty _was _Dark Arts research in the Web.

On Harry's bedside table, he'd placed a ratty, muggle agenda book from the year 2002. Harry opened it and began to write the conclusion that he had come to along with his reasoning all over the calendar for March with the tip of his wand. His words turned a dark blue and stood out in sharp contrast to the faded black lines of the page, as if Harry wasn't writing on the page at all, but just a hair's breadth above it.

Satisfied, Harry lay back on his bed and placed his wand beside the still-open agenda book. Kreacher – ever vigilant – doused the lights as Harry allowed sleep to finally overtake him.

One eye cracked open in amusement when there was a bright blue flash from the agenda book and the words disappeared as if Harry hadn't written them at all.

Apparently he wasn't the only one working late.

**Additional Notes:  
****1.** _Dedication_ - I just have to say that this chapter is dedicated to QianYun, who will understand my reasoning for this dedication.  
**2.** _This Chapter _- I just wanted to put a quick note here that this chapter would not have appeared without the influence of my reviewers. I have a few other chapters that I want to get done this summer (in the.. er.. week I have left) but I was motivated so strongly by my reviewers that... well... here it is. I couldn't think of a way to thank you all as much as I wanted to but to give you an extreemly early chapter (it would have showed up like the second week of September otherwise). So here it is. I hope you liked it. Thank you all!

**status: beta'd by Ayeshah Harvey-Lomas**


	4. The Mirror

_Chapter Four: The Mirror_

Tucked between a little shoe store and a florist's shop on what passed as the main street in a hamlet near Wiltshire was a non-descript café. Not even the oldest inhabitants of the hamlet knew the name of the café, though all could tell that it had a name at one time from the sign that—though now unreadable—still hung over the doorstep. The only curiosity that the townsfolk would allow the café was to wonder how it had existed for so long, as the pastries it sold were nearly always stale, the coffee always just shy of acting like a true liquid, and thus the café could only boast to hold the fewest of regular customers. These regulars were such more because they knew the very nice middle-aged woman who owned the café than for the actual business itself. When questioned about how the café could possibly make a profit, she would laugh and say something about how it had been in the family for generations and completely evade the question itself.

And if sometimes the odd, non-descript, person or two walked out of the café that none of the townsfolk had seen walk into the café in the first place, no one bothered to notice.

Harry yawned as he walked out of the apparition room in the back of the café and headed for the door. It was very early in the morning and the air outside hadn't yet lost the slight nip of frost. He was even earlier than the slight bustle that would have been expected of a muggle main street as they headed for work and, as he yawed widely again, he couldn't quite remember why it had seemed like such a terribly good idea to get up so bloody early to start looking. It seemed obvious that if Malfoy Manor had been _in absentia_ for so long, a few hours wouldn't make a whole lot of difference.

But he was here now so he might as well get started. He headed south through the waking hamlet as if he knew exactly where he was going. Not that he expected anyone—muggle or wizard—to be watching, but he'd learned from experience that if he appeared to know exactly what he was doing, no one bothered to wonder exactly why he was doing it, no matter what the action was.

He had decided to approach the Manor, or at least the spot where the Manor was supposed to be, on foot. He truly doubted it was an illusion spell, but—just in case it was—illusion spells often gave themselves away when a change in perspective was involved.

The sleepy main street became a dirt road only a few minutes' walk out of the more populated areas, which continued south for a kilometer or so before it turned and meandered west through a couple of farms. The sun was high in the sky overhead when Harry paused only for a moment at this junction, looking at the field that spread in front of him before easily vaulting over the wooden fence and continuing on his way. This land wasn't owned by the Malfoy family, but Harry suspected that they had been responsible for the neglect of this particular field in one way or another.

Though many other fields appeared to stretch on behind this one, all in similar states of disuse, Harry knew that once he passed this field he would be over the barrier that protected the Manor from curious muggle eyes. Of course, what he would see when he was over that barrier was the question of the morning.

He eyed the rickety wooden fence as a surveyor might, but he could see no flaws. No matter how he concentrated on the wood, he could find no seams in the spell that would herald two illusion spells cast over each other.

Really, that would have been too easy, anyway.

He half expected to run into a tree when he climbed over the fence, but instead he found himself on the top of a small ridge, looking down at the forest Ron and the other Aurors had found.

Harry leaned back against the fence and just _looked_ at the forest. He'd read the description and seen Ron's conviction the night before, but experiencing it for himself was quite a different thing.

Trees, almost as far as the eye could see, all lush and healthy and green. The sounds of a healthy forest permeated the air: bird calls, and the rustlings of other living things. He could _smell_ the forest on the wind, the scent of leaves, dirt, and dew. And there was no trace of magic anywhere. He could feel no traces of a spell, no lingering residue of the powerful magic that it must have taken to create this.

"Ten points to Slytherin, Mr. Malfoy," he murmured, pushing himself off from the wood. "This is a very impressive bit of magic."

Nothing was out of place as he descended to the forest, the magic—whatever it was—

was seamless and perfect. The bark of the first tree he touched was rough and real. He ripped a piece of it off and it was still bark, brittle and wooden, in his hand. He let it drop to the forest floor as he continued forward.

There was, of course, no sign of the gates that he remembered, but he'd seen the maps of the forest compared to the Ministry copy of the Manor's blueprints and the forest covered only that which was the Manor and the Manor's grounds. He continued onward, through what would have been the Manor's front grounds, and still nothing was out of place.

As Ron had said, there wasn't even a single peacock. Though Harry did wonder if perhaps the forest's birds were the peacocks.

He reached what would have been the Manor's front doors and paused. This was around where Ron had apparated and there was still only forest, just as Ron had said. Harry could very easily visualize nearly apparating into one of the trees, so closely packed…

Wait. They were denser here than they were on the outer parts of the forest. Yes, that was to be expected of any forest but…

The best lie was always that which was nearly the truth.

Harry continued forward slowly, following the flow of the trees as they got thicker and thicker, packed closer and closer together, never past the point where one could say there was no way trees wouldn't grow that way in nature.

And still, he found nothing. He could see why the Aurors hadn't searched the forest very thoroughly. It was almost depressing how perfectly _normal_ it was… which was, of course, what made the forest so suspicious. He sighed, leaning against a nearby tree.

And blinked. Stood upright and then leaned back down.

A flash of gold out the corner of his eye. He looked intently at the tree, and in the fuzzy background of his vision, the gold took shape.

An illusion. But only on one small clearing in the forest. Harry headed for it, pausing every few minutes to close his eyes for a bit so the strain of concentrating on something near while looking at something far wouldn't cause him to miss something.

The clearing was tiny, and as he stepped into it what was a tree became the golden object he'd seen glinting in the morning light.

It was a mirror. Before stepping too close, he quickly cast through the standard detection spells he'd long memorized, beginning with the most obscure and powerful and ending with the classic _Finite Incantatem_. When nothing occurred, he felt it was safe enough to step forward and inspect the mirror more closely. From the back it appeared to be all gold, as tall as he was and nearly twice as wide. Probably solid gold, since he was dealing with Malfoy, he thought, reaching out to touch it. The metal was cool under his fingers, but that was all.

Quite anti-climactic. Though he was positive that the mirror must have something to do with the Manor's disappearance and the forest that took it's place, it must be more a passive role than an active one.

Slowly, he circled around to the front of the mirror, standing back a ways to look at it.

It was broken. As if someone had taken something huge and heavy and hurled it at the mirror's center. The glass was fragmented and broken. Pieces were missing, and others were only barely connected, jutting out at odd angles to the mirror's back. But what was oddest of all was that there was no broken reflection to match the broken glass. There was no reflection at all.

Slowly he stepped forward. Once. Twice. And still, the glass remained blank and opaque, as if the mirror was suspended in a world of nothing. He reached out to touch one of the shards, and as his finger felt the cool glass underneath, an image appeared, spreading out from the point of contact.

It was his reflection, though unbroken, as if the mirror was whole, except for the pieces that were completely missing. He stared at himself for a moment, before moving his finger away.

The image shifted, so subtly that Harry didn't see the difference at first. But the reflection staring back at him was… wrong. It wasn't his reflection anymore. Though it wore his face, it wasn't him.

And then the reflection smiled at him, and Harry jumped back, away from the mirror and the damning reflection. But the reflection didn't fade, if anything it became clearer for the distance.

It was like watching a nightmare unfold, just separated by a thin slice of glass, and all the man in the mirror had done was smile at him.

But it was enough. In that smile, Harry didn't know whether he'd seen himself or the deceased Lord Voldemort smiling at him.

* * *

"A mirror?" the man sitting across the small café table asked.

It was odd to hear Zexion's voice coming from the visage that sat across from him. The man's hair was a rich brown, long and tied back into a horsetail in a composed manner which Zexion's normal hair was incapable of being. His eyes were a sultry green, and even his mouth looked different—though Harry couldn't say exactly how. The voice was the same, though Harry had the distinct feeling that Zexion had only kept that so Harry could tell who he was.

He would have walked right past him, even though he'd known Zexion would appear different when they met in the café. It was only when Zexion had actually spoken, greeted him like an old friend who he was completely surprised to see, that Harry recognized him.

Harry personally felt that his surprise at seeing how his "old friend" had changed in appearance over the years they hadn't seen each other was particularly genuine.

They'd talked for a few minutes, about mundane things that Harry was almost positive Zexion was making up as he was going along—though he wasn't _completely_ positive, which was the most off-putting. Zexion was a very different kind of contact than the ones he'd worked with before. The ease with which Zexion blended truth with lies made him wonder exactly how long Zexion had been stuck working as a contact in the Field before he'd finally been moved into Intel. But after a few minutes, he'd felt the slight tingle of Zexion's magic, a two-person privacy spell that would allow them to say whatever they wished while to the rest of the café it appeared they were still catching up on old times.

"A mirror," Harry repeated, forcing down the sludge that didn't even really pass as coffee. He would have opted for tea, but that was—according to the local rumor—even worse.

Zexion _had_ ordered the tea, and obviously without any thoughts towards drinking it. He was pensive as Harry described the mirror, interrupting whenever he wanted clarification.

Really, Zexion was _very _hard to talk to.

"And the reflection was still you?" Zexion pressed.

"It was and it wasn't," Harry muttered, looking into the depths of the coffee as if it would suddenly produce the tea-leaf specter of the Grim, remembering the chill that had run up his spin at the reflection's visage.

Harry hadn't run, had forced himself to stare at the reflection until it faded. He _had_ touched the mirror again, though reluctantly, and the same thing had happened again.

He hadn't felt the need to test the mirror in triplicate.

"Explain."

"I don't know if I can," Harry said truthfully. "It was like looking at myself, but me in the sense of myself as I would never want to be."

"A nightmare version," Zexion murmured thoughtfully, sitting back in his chair.

"Something like that, yeah," Harry agreed.

"Mirrors that reflect that which—for whatever reason—would not normally be reflected are not uncommon, but they would normally have to remain intact to do so. The fact that the mirror's charm—or curse—would still work when it was shattered in the manner that you described…" Zexion trailed off. "One would only try to shatter a mirror if they wanted it to stop working."

"So someone else thinks that the mirror is to blame for… whatever," Harry waved his hand as if to encompass whatever exactly it was that was occurring at Malfoy Manor.

"That would be my guess. And the question of who shattered it is indeed an interesting one."

Harry nodded. "So is there anyone particularly gifted in be-spelled mirrors that you can get in touch with?"

"Mirrors feature in a wide spectrum of spells, from the most dark and nearly illegal to the most simple and common. There may be one or two experts in the world," Zexion responded sourly. "But even they cannot work on the hypothetical. Is there a possibility that you could obtain a piece of the mirror? Were there any shards on the ground near it?"

"No," Harry shook his head, "but I could probably easily break off a piece."

Zexion nodded. "Good. Judging from what kind of reflection it provided you with, I will assume for the moment that we are indeed dealing with the Dark Arts. Nightmare-inducing items especially are commonly dark artifacts. And we have several in the Ministry who specialize in dark artifacts. I will contact those sources and see if such a mirror is, perhaps, something easily explained."

Harry very much agreed that the mirror had something to do with the Dark Arts but, knowing Malfoy, he doubted it would be a commonly used artifact. Though Malfoy had surprised him in that way before, and it was at least a start.

Also, if he'd learned anything in his time in the Aurors and in the Unspeakables, it was often the most well-known classic spells that were the biggest problems.

"But there was nothing else out of the ordinary other than the mirror?" Zexion quired for the third time.

"Nothing," Harry answered as he had the first two times. "It's just like Ron—Head Auror Ronald Weasley—said. It's like something picked up Malfoy Manor and moved it and put the forest in its place-"

"The likes of which would have been obviously visible and left behind a miasma of magical residue."

"-or just transfigured the whole thing, grounds and all, into the forest."

"Which would then categorize Draco Malfoy as a missing person, and is impossible." Zexion muttered.

"Gotta love the exceptions to Gamp's Law," Harry muttered, punctuating his gloom with the rest of the disgusting coffee.

"Of course. Food, land, money, love, and sentient life," Zexion agreed, though he did not sound nearly as gloomy as he should have, in Harry's opinion.

"So all that leaves is this bloody mirror," Harry griped, standing. "I'll get a piece of it and send it through to the Ministry."

"Bring it by in person," Zexion replied, standing as well—and Harry felt the privacy rise off them like steam. "We can discuss it then."

* * *

Despite the fact that sunset was rapidly approaching, Harry headed for the forest. He'd get the mirror piece and then floo back home. He could bring it in to Zexion in the morning. Of course, by the morning Zexion would probably have interrogated all the dark artifacts experts in the Ministry and would be moving on to the lesser known experts hidden in the Web.

But something about the mirror was still nagging at Harry, and it was something he couldn't quite place to put into words. He wouldn't deny that it was a magical artifact of some sort, but it didn't feel like it was be-spelled or cursed with anything.

If anything, looking at it made him feel like he was looking into a very different mirror that he hadn't seen since his first year at Hogwarts, but where the Mirror of Erised had been engraved, this mirror had no words or engravings at all.

The mirror was still there, just as it had been for the past two days, though—even in two days—Harry could see that the forest itself changed as did a real forest in that same passage of time. Just as he had remembered, there were no fragments of the mirror to be seen anywhere in the clearing. He'd have to rip off one of the fragments that were about to fall off.

He reached for a small one—about the size of his palm—that seemed to be supported only by one point and pulled. He stumbled a bit when it didn't budge. Fingers still grasping the glass, and pointedly ignoring the not-Harry that was grinning out at him, he surveyed the broken mirror with a new respect. Whatever broke the mirror must have been really damaging, whatever it was.

But the shard wouldn't move. He reached for his wand, wincing as his palm grazed the tip of the shard. He watched a drop of blood hover on the tip for a moment before it rolled down the side of the mirror and dropped to the ground…

…where it dripped onto a polished wooden floor.

The room was warm, lit and heated by firelight, the mirror just another golden object among other gilded objects.

"Well done, Potter."

Harry whirled around at the voice, wand raised, but the speaker wasn't even looking at him, lounging on a plush sofa as if without a care in the world, watching the fire cackle merrily in the gold-encrusted marble fireplace before him.

"A lot of people have tried to undo the Mirror of Lies, but very few have actually undone it," Draco Malfoy drawled. "You have very powerful blood."

_to be continued..._

****

**status: beta'd by Ayeshah Harvey-Lomas**


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